"It is, after all, mostly little, common things that make up our lives."
--Elisabeth Elliot

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

For think where it should come from…

I know. You are sitting there with bated breath. Did the class turn me into a writing genius? My answer is a resounding… Yes.

Just kidding. It did help. It opened up my eyes to a world of new possibilities…and two new books that have been added to my Borders shopping list! I loved it. I really did. (Beware, dear hubby, for I may feel as though a 3 class community education course isn’t quite enough, and thusly research other forms of writing education. I’ll keep it cheap. I promise. Well, I hope.)

I came full circle last night, starting out in a fit of panicky shaking and ending the night with the fear of the unknown places this new writing class could take me. But, ya know, I am ready. Willing. Able to see this thing through and let out the writer that I am sure hides within the confines of my human form.

We were given an assignment last night to start a piece of writing (in any form) with these words…”For think if you should lose her”.

Everyone became quiet as we settled in to let the beautiful muses take hold of our hands. Pens flew across the varied papers, some fast, some slow, but all flying gracefully none-the-less. The words seemed to be absorbed from the universe in a sort of wonky osmosis kind of way and transform themselves into food on the paper itself. It was an eerie process, this energy that flowed from the air through my body and out of my fingers. I can only wonder if everyone felt the same sensations that I did.

It didn’t take long for we were all told when to begin and the ending just…well, it just came. No one said “stop”, no one called time. The words flowed out and when they were done, they were done, and there was suddenly, as if by magic, words where there previously were none. Sentences, periods, commas…it was all there in blue ink, on white paper. It really just…happened. I cannot explain it further.

When I laid down my pen, when the words stopped their flow, I read what I had wrote and just didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. When I was told the starting words, I sat a moment to let them sink in and then thought about my daughter. I thought that I was writing about my daughter. But when I read those words, they just didn’t coincide with my thoughts. They weren’t about my daughter at all. But then, what could they be.

I settled with not knowing. For that is what the energies told me to write and who am I to go against the cosmic declarations?

It was only later that a truth was laid upon my desk. Brought to me by a classmate and wrapped in a bundle of understanding and camaraderie.

“I listened to your piece. I thought it was about you…as a writer.”

The light dawned, the heavens opened and the truth was revealed. The writing that had been formed through my fingers was as simple and as complex a piece as I have ever written…and in true narcissistic form, it was about me. Well, about me the writer. As soon as she said it, I felt it. As soon as it left her lips, it was written in the stars and a title was born. I give you…

The Writer in Me

For think if you should lose her that lovely little child. For think if you should lose her out in the world, running wild. Will you chase or let her be? Will you allow her to just be free? Are you really losing that lovely little girl? Or is she just growing up in this scary, scary world. Because if you should lose her think, is she really lost? For she’ll always be your little one no matter what the cost.